First
by ivyflightislistening
Summary: A situation any girl knows the feeling of. One-shot about when Max finally gives in to a slightly more "girly" article of clothing that she'd rather live without. "Why should girls have to have irritating clothes? Guys don't have to deal with it? Why me?"


First Piece of "Strictly Girl" Clothes

_I hate my life._

That was basically the main lines of Maximum Ride's thoughts as she looked out the window and determined she would have no excuse on a day like this to wear a sweatshirt. It was baggie, a hand-me-down from Jeb and still so big she had to roll the sleeves up multiple times for her hands to be able to function. It was the perfect sweatshirt, hiding her shape perfectly and masking it behind a mass of Harvard Football Game spirit. Unfortunately, the thermometer on the window read sixty degrees, and the sun was just coming up. She hammered on Nudge and Angel's door one more time, then hurried back to her room before the Gasman or Fang made it out into the hallway.

After making sure the door was locked (with all six locks, plus the bookshelf pushed in front of it for the ultimate Iggy-and-Gasman deterrent), she peeled off the sweatshirt and stood in front of the full-length mirror, taking a good look at her reflection for the first time in memory.

It wasn't that different than how she usually pictured herself, if she did for any reason at all. Max wasn't really into imagining herself in elaborate and expensive outfits. Really, her knee length cargo shorts and usual t-shirt were enough. But now, looking herself over in some stolen soccer shorts and tank top for the sunny room, Max resignedly decided that it was time, and headed over to the very, very, _very _back of her closet where even Iggy and Gazzy were unable to reach. After moving aside the strategically placed shoes and do-dads, she emerged from the closet and moved back to the mirror, holding the bikini-top shaped piece of clothing up in front of her.

Why oh why oh why? Guys didn't have to wear them. They were often in impractical colors and embarrassing to buy, not to mention caused dressing problems. _Will it show? Will Fang notice? Please oh please have him go blind for a day!_ _Why?_

Max gulped and double-checked the locks.

"Where d'you suppose Max is?" Grumbled Iggy, not even pretending to look down into the hastily mix bowl of batter. "She knows Saturdays are pancake days."

"Which is probably why she got us up extra early." The Gasman muttered somewhat incoherently, his head resting on the table in front of him. "Otherwise I'd bet she'd forget what day of the week it is. The other day she asked me what time it was and she had a watch on."

"Oh, don't be so hard on her. I think the morning's pretty!" Nudge beamed at the other four birdkids in the room, even if Angel had fallen asleep on her lap and wasn't paying any attention at all. Methodically, the older girl ran a brush through Angel's tangled curls and pulled out bits of twig from yesterday's Capture the Flag match. "Plus we'll get extra pancakes if she stays upstairs. I wonder if she fell back asleep, but usually she's pretty good about at least making the effort to come downstairs and at least fall asleep on the couch, you know?"

The comment about extra pancakes brightened everyone considerably, but all the same, Fang got up from the stool at the island and headed upstairs without comment. A moment later they could hear him knocking softly on their leader's door, and Iggy even turned the heat down on the stove so they could hear better.

"_What?_"

The other flock members all smirked, silently prepping for the shout-out that seemed inevitable to follow. For the meantime, though, Fang answered as calmly as he usually did.

"Morning to you, too."

They could hear the steel in Max's voice, even though there was no apparent reason for it. What made this Saturday any different from the day before, when Max had happily set the table for breakfast and was up, as usual, before anyone else? They only kept track of days for convenience, after all. And if it was something she had against Saturdays, this one wasn't any different from the last, aside the prospect of some heat in the Colorado Mountains.

"Can I come in?"

The reply came immediately as she shouted, and it wasn't necessary for Iggy to remove the pancakes from the heat to hear Max's words. "_No of course you can't come in! What kind of person do you think I am? I could be changing or something, jeezum crow_, Fang. _What if I was like_… well…" Her voice dropped off as she searched for some reason that he couldn't come in. Iggy rolled his eyes at her pathetic attempts. Really, she couldn't even make up something creative.

"Trafficking illegal drugs?" Fang replied dryly, not at all fazed by the unpredictable outburst. "Who knew what you get up to in the early hours of the morning? Good thing Ig keeps Gazzy sheltered from this criminal life of yours."

He trooped back downstairs, not saying anything, but shaking his head back and forth in a "why me?" sort of way.

"As if she's getting changed." Nudge chuckled. "She takes five minutes _tops _to get dressed."

"Right. Well, I'm serving the pancakes without her. Her loss." Iggy shrugged, not too concerned with whatever was making Max act so strangely. It was probably just a bad dream or something… it's not like she could have been cloned and replaced during the night, or injected with some weird drug or developed a new skill… on second thought. He put down his fork, just as Max darted down the stairs as if making up for lost time.

"I heard that, Nudge." She growled, grabbing a plate from the countertop next to Fang and a bowl of strawberries from the fridge. "As if I'm not allowed to take more than five minutes once in a while."

Nudge frowned; placing down her fork and taking a good look at the older girl. For a moment she was silent, blessedly quiet after the last five minutes of talking nonstop to Gazzy and Angel about a place she found in the woods that was just like the magic forest inthe _Magic Tree House _books that Jeb used to read to them.

"Well," She finally decided on, picking up a fork load of buttery-maple-sugary goodness and taking a bite. "If you're going to spend forty-five minutes getting dressed, you might as well look different."

Max jumped, and for a moment, everyone was afraid that Nudge had said something drastically wrong and that overnight Max had… turned into a girly-girl. Or at least a more Nudge-like girl. Who knows? She might go into a rage at Nudge, and there could be something huge like painted toenails or a fitted shirt or even a matching ponytail holder… Matching ponytail holders was usually as girly as it got for Max.

"I don't look any different?"

Nudge, as if realizing her possible mistake, looked to Fang for rescue, who then rolled his eyes at the whole ridiculous affair. He got off the island countertop, where he had previously been sitting cross-legged between piles of old newspapers and breakfast material, leaned against the granite counter, and took a good look at Max.

"No."

Max hesitated, twisting the bottom of her shirt nervously until she realized that it made the shirt tighter, and she abandoned that quickly.

"Care to elaborate?"

He sighed, but they all knew that he'd elaborate for Max, and occasionally the others. "You're wearing your brown cargo shorts, only ones Ig hasn't used as a fuse, and a Hopkinton Youth Lacrosse t-shirt which is from one of the Goodwill runs that Jeb made ages ago."

Immediately her face brightened, a huge smile spreading across her face, and she leapt at her friend, wrapping him in a hug even though he was pretty sure that he should wrap his arms around her only to keep her secure long enough so Iggy could get a straight jacket or something. That was _if_ he could keep her secure, though, and so he stood stiffly until she backed away.

"Thank you, Fang!" She grinned, grabbing her plate and either ignoring or not noticing the odd looks her family was giving her. "Here! Have you can have my pancakes. I think I'll have strawberries and toast instead."

A few moments later, when Max had darted off to who-knows-where, and Fang still stood, stunned, in front of the others, he managed to shake it off and pick up his enlarged plate of pancakes warily.

"I think I'd better toss these." He muttered. "Along with any leftovers from dinner last night…"

"It's funny." Mentioned Iggy, sipping a glass of milk. "She didn't smell like tobacco when she woke us up this morning."

Angel looked up from her tiny pieces of pancake. "Why would she smell like tobacco?"

"'Cause she's high on something."

Max was sure she had acted a little off this morning. The others undoubtedly noticed, but she had managed to calm down later in the day. Now she watched Fang and Nudge square up against Ig and the Gasman with their homemade soccer goals and slightly deflated ball from a hammock set outside the kitchen window. Her wings extended, catching the light breeze and waving softly. It _was _a warm day, and she sure was glad she didn't have to wear the heavy sweatshirt. It had been ages since the sun was out.

She settled down further into the hammock. Her new choice of clothing wasn't _that _uncomfortable, just took a bit of getting used to.

On second though, maybe life didn't suck quite as much as she had thought.


End file.
